This is a short story I posted on a different site a while back. I've changed some of it as I was never quite happy with it before and decided to re-post here (with some encouragement from the ever helpful IreneClaire). Not supernatural in any way, just an ordinary H50 story.
Danny whump, Steve angst.
WARNING- This is a dark story and includes torture and rape although it is (mostly) not described in graphic detail. Proceed with caution. I will be changing the rating to M from Chapter 2 so you may have to adjust your filter settings if you are interested in reading it. You most definitely have been warned!
Disclaimer- don't own them.
DAVID
CHAPTER 1- Lion's Den
David stood, motionless, patient. He watched the blond man's forehead with fascination. He tilted his head to one side, watched as a single bead of sweat tracked slowly from the brow, rolling down the swollen cheek. Watched it pass over the dried blood, taking on a tinted hue. Watched as it reached the point of the man's lax jaw. For a long moment it hung there, defying gravity, until it could resist the inexorable pull no longer and fell. His gaze followed it, mesmerised, committing every detail to memory.
The drip splashed on the white tile floor, finally lost to sight as it mingled with the blood and fluids pooled below the suspended man. The drain was all but blocked with matter from those who had gone before the current prize but the reds and yellows still spiralled slowly towards the dark grate, the pattern contributing to the perfection of the event unfolding in the room.
David closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, analysing the cacophony of smells in the room. Blood dominated. An iron-rich tang that drew the primal animal inside him to the fore. It growled in his mind, made him salivate. He smiled, reminding it who was in control. He inhaled again. Urine and vomit- sour, clinging smells. Inevitable and informative. He knew what the man had had for his last meal. Knew he was in the habit of drinking too much coffee and not enough water. But the sweetest smell, the sweetest smell by far was fear. It had been some time coming. David had had to work for the scent he craved, the one that hit him like an endorphin. Intense, stimulating. Made him feel alive.
David opened his eyes and took a moment to observe his captive. The blond man had fought him every step of the way, angry and stubborn. He was always restrained, only shifted from one position to another when unconscious, but he had tried so hard, so many times, to barter for his freedom using an endless flow of words as his leverage. He had tried to engage David, not yet understanding he was not speaking to an equal but one far superior to himself, one for whom emotion is irrelevant. The man had rattled through the avenues open to him- aggression, fury, empathy, promises, threats, pleading. He had even laughed- a strange, hysterical giggle. Out of place. Intriguing.
David appreciated his victim's efforts, his strength and resilience- it made the fear even more delicious when it finally dominated, when the pain and exhaustion finally broke through the bravado, unleashing the intoxicating aroma he craved.
He inhaled again now. The sweet scent was thick in the air again. He knew what that meant. His trophy was awake, feigning continued unconsciousness. David smiled again, understanding in a way. He stretched, then walked slowly around his naked prize, observing. He whistled a soft tune as he walked. The man hung limply by his wrists, suspended clear of the floor by a handful of inches. David noted the overextended arms, the bulging muscles on the shoulders and back. The injuries that told the story of the only part of the man's life that mattered- the hours he had spent with the entity called David. A walking God. An intelligence beyond comprehension. But so bored. David craved adrenaline, but there was so little in life to raise his steady heartbeat, so little to challenge him.
David suddenly froze, simultaneously ceasing his off-key melody. He was rewarded with the sound of a sharply drawn breath. His prize knew the time for his next lesson had come. Still the pretence continued. The newly shorn blond head hung forwards, eyes shut and jaw slack. David smiled in anticipation, taking a moment to decide on his next move. He watched as his prize awaited the inevitable. He saw the perspiration run, knew the man's heart-rate was increasing, his adrenaline pumping, helplessly caught up in the agony of not knowing what was about to come. More of the same? A punch, a cut, a burn, a shock, rape? Or something new and unexpected? His prize was weakened, but still stubborn, still hiding from the inevitable. By the time David was satisfied, the man would seek out his gaze hungrily and beg for the sweet release of death, accept it gratefully.
He stepped forward, close enough to bring him face-to-face with the blond man. He raised his scalpel and slowly, deliberately, sliced a deep cut across the cheek, transecting the track the bead of sweat had taken. The man flinched, eyes flashing open in shock. David stepped away, laying his scalpel neatly on his work table, then turned and walked back to his prize. He cupped the man's face gently in his hands and smiled sweetly, smelling the fear, the fresh blood, peering into the ice blue eyes to read every last flicker of emotion. Then he leant forwards and kissed the new cut, before sealing his lips over it. He sucked, drinking deeply.